When The Numbers Don't Add Up
by blackducky
Summary: /on hold/ Charlie has to learn that there's more out there than numbers.
1. Living Is More Than Breathing

_**WHEN THE NUMBERS DON'T ADD UP**_

_Written By Celeste Shinra_

**CHAPTER ONE:**_Living Is More Than Breathing_

"The x is the answer. So, maybe if I do the equation backwards, leaving the x and …"

It was late at night when Charlie heard his brother storming into the garage. Turning his head, he took a quick look at him and then turned back to the black board in front of him. The equation was far more important than whatever his brother had to tell him but he still turned back around when his brother called his name.

"Charlie?"

It had started in elementary school. He had always known that there was something different about him but he had never really put a finger on it. The kids had been teasing him about his curly hair and big nose so he thought perhaps it was the way he looked that was wrong.

"Mommy? Why is being me bad?" He had asked while they were cooking cookies together. He would never forget the look on his mother's face. Her face was frozen in a half-smile and it slowly changed into a sad frown. She had bent down, kissed his forehead, and pulled him into a big hug.

"Oh Charlie, being yourself isn't bad." Then, just like a good mother, she handed him a sugar cookie from the pan. "Now you forget what everyone else says and you just go on living with your head held up high." The conversation was never repeated again. There was never a need to.

Charlie had taken those few lines to his heart and refused to let himself forget them. When the kids would tease him, he would run over to the swing set and hum songs his mom had taught him. It never really bothered him that he was different.

"Charlie is a bright boy, Ms. X, but the other boys feel intimidated. Perhaps we could let him jump ahead. Skip a few grades?"

His older brother by two years, Don, wasn't too happy when he saw his young baby brother walk into his classroom. Charlie had always loved his older brother but it soon became apparent that Don wasn't too thrilled about having him around at school.

"You're the baby! We're supposed to be in different classes!"

The kids picked on him and the teachers ridiculed him. Charlie's only happy time was when he was at home. Don would be his old self, agreeing to play UNO or Monopoly. His mother would be baking cookies or patting their heads, reminding them that she loved them. Sitting on the couch, reading up on the stocks, would be his father. Time spent at home were the happiest times for Charlie.

"Honey, what are we going to give Charlie for his birthday? He doesn't want any of the stuff the other teens are asking for."

"Oh don't worry about our Charlie. I have the perfect gift for my little math genius."

When he turned 13, he hadn't really expected anything for his birthday. He hadn't really asked for something special so he was very surprised when his mom took him to their garage. On all the walls were dusty blackboards and on the floor were chalk pieces.

"We can buy you some new white boards and markers and erasers and then you'll have your own laboratory, Charlie. It's all yours, to disappear into for hours."

"How did you know, Mom?"

"A mother understands her child's needs."

Charlie had never hated homework. It gave him something to concentrate on, to give him a refuge. Now, homework became his favorite pastime. Working out his problems on those boards, the smell of the markers and the dust from the chalk, it seemed as if nothing else in the world mattered.

His mom would come in every day after dinner and watch him. Sometimes, he would forget she was even there and begin talking out loud to himself. When his mom laughed at his outbursts, he would whip around and turn bright red, which made his mom laugh even harder.

Her laugh never sounded cruel or condescending but warm and uplifting. Always smiling at him while he struggled with a problem and then applauding when he solved it. There were even times when Don would come in and watch, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You watched the teacher do it! You copied the one in the book!"

"Don, apologize to Charlie. This is the same homework you worked two hours ago."

Charlie always felt guilty when his mom defended him in front of Don. He knew that Don was jealous of the attention their mom gave him, of the time they spent together. Yet, Don never argued with his mother or mentioned his jealousy. It was just something both brothers knew and kept to themselves.

Growing up in high school was hard for Charlie, especially when his big brother became the most popular kid in school. With his slick hair and blue forget-me-nots, he was hard not to notice. The girls fawned over him and the guys wanted his advice. No one ever visited the math center where Charlie stood at the white board, getting ahead on his homework.

"Hey, isn't that Don X's brother?"

"Yeah, but he's a math geek. He's nothing like Don!"

It was hard to keep his head held high around his brother's friends but he was determined to not let it affect him. He tried to make friends with a couple of them but they never acted the way he thought they would. Not that it mattered that he made friends with them. The only person whose word mattered was his mother. Perhaps she would have the answer to this problem.

"Charlie, you can't predict what people are going to say or do with math. Sadly, not all life's problems can be solved with a simple equation. Things happen that can't allows be explained by math."

Nevertheless, he wouldn't believe her. Soon, he became obsessed with solving everything and doing everything by math. He started searching through all the math books, writing down all the equations and theories, and making his own notes. When his small predictions of people's behaviors started coming true, he was convinced that he had stumbled onto something special. Something that only he had access to. All those kids would be sorry that they had ever laughed at Charlie X.

"Charlie?"

Whisking his mind back to the present, Charlie blinked. A little annoyed at being interrupted from his daily equation solving, he gave a short sigh. Shaking his head, he went back to the blackboard.

"Charlie, this is important."

"What do you want, Don." He didn't turn around but kept his eyes on the tall blonde. It was odd that he would even be in the garage, much less speaking to him about something he deemed important. Probably some homework he needed help on or a test to study for. He wished Don would just come to him for other things as well like girl trouble or just to talk. Things that he wouldn't know anything about but would still love to talk about with his older brother.

When Don didn't answer him back, he started to feel worried. His eyes narrowed in concern. Don wouldn't even look up at him, his face on his chest. Something was wrong, Charlie could feel it.

"What is it?"

Don lifted his head, large tears on his cheeks. It was hard to watch and not feel a chill run up his spine. Dropping the chalk, he ran to his brother and hugged him. He expected him to push him away but was surprised when he hugged him ferociously back. After a few moments, Don stepped back and wiped the tears away.

"Come with me, Charlie. Mom needs to talk to you."

"Okay," Charlie nodded and followed his brother out of the garage. He patted Don's shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry. Whatever's wrong, Mom can help you. Mom can fix anything. "

At this comment, Don burst into fresh tears and bowed his head in shame.

* * *

"NO!" Charlie pushed the garage door open, bursting in. His face flushed and his eyes wet, the boy stood by the door trying to regain his composure. Wiping the tears away, he looked around the room.

"Mom can fix it." He said once and then repeated it over and over. The words sounded comforting but held no truth to him.

That's all they were.

Words .

"_Honey? Charlie? Oh, my sweet Charlie. You have to be brave for Mom, okay? Can you be brave for me, Charlie?"_

"Mom can fix it," Charlie sat down in the old rocking chair. He rocked forward and then kicked himself back. Like a man possessed, he rocked the chair. "Mom can fix it."

"_Mommy is very sick, Charlie. I won't be able to join you in the garage for some time. Can you be tough for me, Charlie?"_

Faster he rocked, closing his eyes. Tightly shut, the tears leaked down his face. Mom was going to be okay. She would be back in the garage tomorrow, sitting right here with a smile on her face. He would make a funny face while concentrating and she would laugh.

"_You don't worry about me, Charlie. I'll be fine. I just need a lot of rest. Let Don take you to school and help you, okay? He's your brother and he loves you very much. Make your brother proud, Charlie. Make me proud, sweet."_

The rocking slowed. Opening his eyes, Charlie looked through the garage window at the house. It was dimly lit with candles, casting shadows in the corners. His mother's room was dark. He wasn't a kid anymore and he knew when something was really wrong.

And something was very, very wrong.

"Mom can fix it."

His dad mentioned that mom had something in her body that was hurting her and that he might kill her. The doctors said that they weren't sure where it came from or why they hadn't been able to see before and could only help slow the process. Someone had to know something!

Wait, what about his equations? Getting up, he went to his boards and looked at them as if for the first time. He had solved a lot of hard problems with math, been able to predict how people would act or where they would go. Why couldn't he apply that to this?

"I can fix it."

Bending down to grab the chalk, he felt a comfort as he let the white dust rub against his fingers. He knew what he was doing now. Solving life's problems was just like solving math problems.

"_If I get really sick, I might have to go away for awhile but you'll see me again. Just promise me one thing, Charlie. Don't forget how to live. You'll still have a brother who will look out for you and a father who will watch out for you and watch you grow. They both love you very much."_

His mind reeling back in all the theories and equations, he didn't hear the rain begin to pour outside. And he didn't hear when his father came in and left a bowl of soup for dinner. He didn't see his brother stand in the doorway, watching him with hardened eyes. Didn't feel the cold breezes in the middle of the night. And he didn't listen to the dog howling a mournful goodbye. Night and day he struggled to solve the questions of life, never noticing the outside world.

"_You won't always be able to explain everything that happens to you. Sometimes, you just have to rely on what your heart feels. Oh Charlie, I worry about you worst of all. I fear of the danger and the hurt you'll go through and I won't be there to kiss your head and fix it. Oh my sweet little lamb, don't forget to live. Life is much more than numbers and equations. Life is so much more than you can realize. Don't forget life, Charlie."_

So close. He could tell. The equations were all coming together now. Wait, no, that doesn't go there. It's supposed to be part of this over here. He sighed and erased the bored quickly. Starting up again, his hand swept over the board like a wave. His mind soon became lost again and all time stopped.

"_Oh Charlie … my Charlie …_

_Don't forget how to live._

**END OF CHAPTER ONE**


	2. Saving Math For Later

**NOW WRITING**

From the creator of _The Greatest Adventure_

Some pirates steal your treasure but this one will steal your heart!

Kat and Riley are transported back in time

And are back to tell the story of their

**Imaginary Reality: PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN**

A Dream That's Too Good To Be Real

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Um, I'm not sure about the time schemes but I am gonna check on them so if anyone knows where I can find out character info via the show then send me the link. Thankz for the comments. I am so proud! 

**B3n - **I almost thought this was a glitch or something. Glad to have you aboard my crazy train. I will be your captain so I advise strongly that you wear a seatbelt, helmet, knee pads and and a lot of asprin because this train will be going at very high speeds through sharp turns. Be on the lookout for evil characters. They might try to seduce you!

**AlamoGirl - **Quick, reel her in! Aha, another person to baffle and amaze! I luv the name! Thanks for the compliment. It took me awhile to try and figure out what his mom would have said and then it just kinda sank in. I don't know how old they were so I tried not to dwell too much into that part.

* * *

_**WHEN THE NUMBERS DON'T ADD UP**_

_Written By Celeste Shinra_

CHAPTER TWO: Saving Math For Later

* * *

_Three Years Later _(see author's note) 

Charlie lifted his head to the sound of his brother's car. Walking over to the window, he pulled back the curtain and looked out. Don had parked his blue convertible and was currently racing to the door of the office. As he rammed his way through the crowds of people in the building, he kept his eyes on Charlie.

This was not going to be a good day.

"Where have you been?"

"Don't yell, Don. We're in a small enough room as it is."

"Who's yelling!"

"You are."

Don shifted his angry gaze to the other people in the room. Terry was drinking her coffee and Amita was typing on her laptop, trying to look occupied. Sighing heavily, he looked back at Charlie.

"I just wish you had called me or at least told Dad where you were going." He sat down at the table and grabbed out his cell phone. "He's been worried since last night when you didn't call in."

"I was in the garage." Charlie answered matter-of-factly. He turned back to the window. "I got back late and didn't want to wake you guys up."

"Well, you should have told him or left a note." Don tilted his head to Terry. "Good morning, by the way."

"It won't be too good for long. We got a report on a suicide." She set down her cup and pushed a folder towards him. He flipped it open and frowned.

"Great. Oh, Dad. Yah, I found him. He's fine. Look, I'll call you back later. I just got another case. Alright, see you soon." He snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the table. After giving Charlie another aggravated look, he turned his chair around and faced the other two. "So, what's the case?"

"It's the usual suicide but the department wants us to look in and check on it anyway." Terry started taking out folders from her bag and passed them to Don who casually flipped through them. "Her name is Adriana Thompson. She was found in her bathroom with both wrists cut, dead."

"Then, there's no doubt that the cause of death is blood loss." Don murmured. He brought out a picture from the file. "When was this taken?"

"Just four hours ago at nine."

"Well, this is apparently a suicide so why is the department involving us?" Don asked, leaning back in his chair.

"This is why." Amita turned her laptop around. "Adriana had been temporarily under the Witness Protection program until nineteen years when she personally asked to be taken out."

"Can they do that?" Terry asked while she jotted down a couple of notes in her file. Don, amused, watched her for a second before turning his attention back to Amita.

"They must be able to if she did it. Here's the file." Amita pointed to the screen. "And here's the file she gave the police twenty years ago stating that she'd help them bust a drug deal. Only, the gang they were up against knew they were coming and a whole bunch of people died. She was blamed for setting them up but when she started receiving threats, the department ended up having to give her protection."

"So why did she end up leaving the program?" Terry grabbed a file and flipped through it. "I don't remember reading about that part."

"I thought you knew about this case." Don looked over at her with an eyebrow raised. She shrugged but didn't look at him.

"I was only told about what they found at her place." Terry, moving her bangs out of her face, glanced at Amita. "So why did she leave?"

"She was pregnant and wanted her kid to live a normal life." The dark-haired girl swung her laptop back around. She began typing furiously. "The only other thing I found of interest was that her husband tried to divorce her ten times but always ended up backing out because of money problems. The department wants you guys to check it out because they don't want anyone else getting their noses into this."

"So, he kills the wife. It's the cheapest way of getting rid of her." Terry raised her lip disgust. "Men are such pigs."

"Ahem."

"Besides Don, of course." Amita commented with a smile.

"Are you kidding? Have you seen this guy eat?" Terry and Amita chuckled a bit.

"Can we not talk about food while I'm looking at these pictures?" Don clutched his stomach and groaned. Terry rolled her eyes.

"Alright then, lets get this into the files and maybe we can have a quiet day at work." She stood up, grabbing all the folders and stuffing them into her bag. "We might need these later."

Amita snapped her computer shut and placed it in her own bag. With a quick smile to Charlie, she followed Terry out leaving the two brothers alone. Don got up and walked over to him.

"I didn't mean to yell at you. Just tell us now and then what's going on, okay?." Don watched as Charlie nodded in response. "Alright then. So, are you going to come with us?"

"No, I have to stay here and work out some problems."

"I'll call you when we're done. Maybe we can go out and take Dad to lunch. What do you say?"

"Sure." Charlie turned around and walked to the large white board on the back wall. Don glared at his back. Without another word, he slammed the door open and stormed through the office. Glancing behind him at his older brother, Charlie wondered if that could have gone any worse.

"Time of death?"

"Some time between 6:30 and 7. She got up for work, went to the bathroom, and didn't come out. The daughter got worried and checked in on her at 7 and found her like this."

"Cause of death?"

"Isn't that apparent?"

"Sorry, this is for the record."

"Blood loss."

"And what did she use to do it?"

"We're not sure."

Don raised an eyebrow and stared at the policeman in front of him. He gave a quick knowing look to Terry. "You're not sure what she killed herself with?"

"We can't find anything that could have done it." The policeman swept his hand across the bathroom. "We've got razors and scissors and tweezers but none of them have any blood on or new skin cells. The only possible explanation that we could think of was that she flushed it."

"She cut herself and then threw the razor into the toilet?" Terry walked over to the toilet and looked down into the murky water. "There is a lot of blood in there. We'll ask the plumbing service to come down and check it out. Is there anything else?"

"Nothing else is left except this." The policeman handed them a small piece of cloth. Terry winced as he put it in her hand.

"What is this?"

"It was found near the body. Our guess is that she probably wrote this down with her blood before she died. However, we can't make heads or tails of it. It doesn't even make sense. It's just a bunch of numbers."

"Looks like we found something for Charlie to do." Don took the cloth and dropped it in a small plastic bag. Tipping it over, he looked at the numbers. "Why would she write numbers down?"

"Maybe she was trying to leave some kind of note. What are the numbers?" Terry walked away from the toilet and out of the bathroom, trying to keep the smell as far from her as possible.

"15191121252613." Don read as he followed suit. He laughed. "I don't even know why I bother trying to know what this means. Charlie would probably know in a heartbeat."

"Then maybe we should get out of here. We've already done all we can do."

"What do we put in the file then?" They walked into the kitchen where Amita was waiting for them, the files in her hand. Seated by the window, she was able to watch what everyone was doing and take notes at the same time. She nodded to the other two as they sat down.

"Isn't it obvious? The woman probably had one too many threats and ended the stress. This has suicide written all over it."

"She didn't kill herself." A young woman walked into the kitchen, glaring at Terry with red and blotchy eyes. The black hair that cut across her shoulders made her face look pale and sickly. She came forward, arms crossed. "Aren't you supposed to be detectives? You should be able to tell between a suicide and a murder."

"Ms … Thompson?" Don said cautiously. He couldn't see the similarities between the two women other than the crystal blue eyes.

"So where are your notes? You know, where you write down all the stuff you find at the crime scene?" The woman ignored him, continuing to glare daggers at Terry.

"There's not a lot to go on, Ms. Thompson. Sometimes, its hard to believe that someone we love can do something like this but –"

"No, you don't get it!" Ms. Thompson shouted at her, thrusting her fists on the table. Amita jumped, her eyes going wide. This wasn't going well. Don scooted his chair back a bit but Terry seemed unphased.

"What don't we get, Ms. Thompson?"

"Sure, my mom was a cutter but she wouldn't kill herself! Did you even check her wrists?"

"They were covered in blood."

"What about the cuts? You know, the one's she supposedly gave herself?' The woman demanded, her voice rising. "I bet you anything that they're horizontal!"

"What difference does it make what direction they go in? She could have slit a cross and still have died." Terry tried to keep her own emotions from rising but the knot in her stomach was making it hard.

"Look at my wrists!" Ms. Thompson thrust her arm into Terry's face. "If you cut around the wrist, the worse that could happen is that you could faint from blood loss. Not die from it. You would have to cut down along the vein, like a noodle." She pulled her arm away, pulling her shirt down over the scars. "I bet you anything that there are no cuts like that anywhere on her body."

"And how would you know all this?"

"She told me. I didn't kill her so just wipe that stupid look off your face."

"Why would she tell you how to kill yourself?"

Ms. Thompson didn't respond. She straightened out and crossed her arms again. "You don't care, do you? Fine, all you police are the same. Corrupt and moronic as ever. Get out before I sue you for misusing evidence."

Terry began to retort back but Don's firm hand pulled her out of her seat and out of the kitchen before she could even think. Amita gave the girl a small card.

"Here's Officer Epps' home number. If you change your mind, give him a call." Amita watched as the girl tossed the card on the counter but was simply glad she hadn't thrown it away. She smiled, walked out of the house and tried to ignore the argument between Terry and Don. Guess today wouldn't be a slow day after all.

Three hours later found Charlie inside his classroom, furiously erasing the chalkboard. It had taken all of his brain power to keep his eyes away from Amita as well as his thoughts during class. Now, with that formula his older brother had given him, he would be able to stay occupied during their study session. Thank goodness for math!

"Um, Professor Epps?"

"Hmm?" He jumped at her voice but regained himself. The last thing he needed was for her to know he felt nervous around her.

"Well, we've been in here for awhile and I was wondering why you hadn't said anything to me."

"You're busy studying."

"Yeah but you're the teacher. Aren't you supposed to help me study?"

"Oh, of course." He turned around and smiled. "Sorry about that. I got wrapped up in those numbers that Don gave me." Good, the absent-minded professor thing is working.

_Now, just don't stare at her and you'll be fine. Focus on the problem, on the paper. Wow, her hands are so warm … STOP! Quick, act natural. _"I like your bracelet." _Oh, real smooth. I am such a dork._

"Uh, thanks." Amita smiled at him while scooting her chair closer.

"So, what problem do you need help on?"

"This one." She pointed down to the paper where a bunch of equations and erased numbers were. "I know the answer but I don't know how to solve it."

"How do you know the answer then?"

"You gave us the answers just an hour ago. You know, to check our work and study."

"Oh right," Charlie mentally kicked himself. How could he have forgotten that? He laughed a bit, hoping that he wouldn't seem like such an idiot. "Well, here. I'll show you." He started writing when Amita suddenly laughed.

"Professor-"

"Charlie," he corrected her. Her smile widened, which pleased him.

"Charlie," Amita said quietly. "I can't see what you're writing from across the table. It's not like I have the bubonic plague or something."

"Oh no ,of course not." _Just steady yourself. Don't knock over any chairs. Sit down next to her, nice and easy. There you go! Now keep eye contact but not too much! You're the teacher here and she's the student._

"Alright, now let's get down to work. The problem starts here and then you have these two variables over here so you have to put the two together but to do that you have to—" _Good, you're on a roll. Stay focused on the problem and not on her face. Damnit Charlie, stop staring at her! She'll think you're some kind of freak!_

"What about this part? How am I supposed to get that?" Amita ran her hand across the paper and stopped inched from his own. He could feel the heat of her body and he felt his face turn red.

"Um, well you have to, you know, get the equation that fits with, um, the problem." _Perfect, you're stammering. Keep your concentration on the paper. Don't think of anything that has to do with Amita. Ignore the fact that your heart feels like it's leaping out of your chest! IGNORE IT!_

"Oh, I see it now. You have to get the output before you find the input. Thanks, Charlie. I owe you."

"How about lunch?"

"What?"

"Uh, well, I mean. It's just after noon and I'm kind of hungry and so I'm sure that you're hungry. I mean, you've been up since the department called us this morning and I haven't seen you eat anything so I thought that maybe you'd be hungry or something."

"Charlie?"

"Yes?"

"Breathe."

Charlie's shoulders slumped. He ran his hand through his dark curly hair, already dreading her response. What a stupid thing to say. How could he be such an idiot? Everything would be so awkward now and just when things were starting to pull together.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, for lunch. I am kind of hungry."

"Uh, how about that Italian restaurant down the street? I mean, if that's too fancy we can go somewhere else."

"It sounds perfect." Amita smiled as she laid her hand on top of his. Charlie felt immediately at ease, letting their fingers intertwine. He stood up quickly and started dragging her out of the room.

"Come on then!"

"What about studying?"

"We save that for later."

**END OF CHAPTER TWO**


	3. Suicide or Murder

**NOW WRITING**

From the creator of _The Greatest Adventure_

Some pirates steal your treasure but this one will steal your heart!

Kat and Riley are transported back in time

And are back to tell the story of their

Imaginary Reality: PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN

A Dream That's Too Good To Be Real

* * *

_**WHEN THE NUMBERS DON'T ADD UP**_

_Written By Celeste Shinra_

CHAPTER THREE: Suicide or Murder?

Charlie rested on the couch, a big smile on his face. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. The day hadn't started off too well but it sure did end terrific! Lunch with Amita had opened up new doors for both of them. The feeling swelling up in his chest was almost painful.

"Well, Charlie, how are you?" His father came out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"I'm good. What about you? Sorry about lunch." Charlie then felt guilty about leaving his father out.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I had some company anyhow." Mr. Epps added with a wink. He turned around and started to walk back to his bedroom. "I'm off to bed, Charlie. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright," Charlie stole a glance at the clock with raised eyebrows. It was only eight o'clock. When did his dad start going to bed so early? He guiltily remembered all the time he had spent in the garage and cringed. "Goodnight Dad!" he shouted hoping that his father heard him.

"Night son," Mr. Epps waved right before he closed his bedroom door.

Feeling a bit letdown and guilty, Charlie got up to get a drink. A nice hot drink of coffee would help. At least, he hoped it would. Just as he began pouring a cup, there was a small knock at the front door. For a moment, he wondered if he was just imagining it. When he set the pot down, there was a second knock, lighter than the first. His eyes went from his father's door to the front door and back. Should he answer it?

"Umm, just … just a minute!" he yelled as he ran to his father's door. "Dad? There's uh, someone knocking at the door."

"Well, go answer it, Charlie."

"Right, right. Of course." Collecting himself, he walked out of the hallway and to the door. For some reason, he was dreading to see who was on the other side.

_And the wolf said, 'little piggies, little piggies, let me in!_

Okay, that was not what he was supposed to be thinking as he was opening the door. Then again, when were thoughts supposed to be anything? Cautiously, he turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open.

"Uh, can I help you?" Charlie asked. It took him a couple seconds to notice who was standing in front of him. She was a little shorter than him with short black hair and blue eyes. The way she stood under the light reminded him of a little lost kitten.

"Oh, I uh … must have the wrong house." She started to turn away but then quickly turned around. "I'm looking for a detective Epps. Do you know where he lives?"

"This is his house." He replied back, staring at her.

"It is? Oh, is he home? I … I came here to get something from him." The girl stepped past Charlie and into the house. The poor boy, flabbergasted, just stood there watching her. She turned back around and raised an eyebrow. "You got your light on in the attic, kid?"

"We don't have an attic," the words came out of his mouth before he realized what she had said. He closed and locked the door, turning so that she wouldn't see his red face. "I mean, Don's not home yet. Do you like to drink? We have coffee." He hurried into the kitchen and grabbed out another cup.

"So, are you a detective too?" The girl followed him and sat down at the table.

"Me? No, I'm a professor. I teach math." After he set the cup down in front of her, he sat down. "What do you do?"

"I work and go to college. Not much of anything important." The girl took a sip. She put the cup back down, looking at him. "This is good. You make it?"

"My dad did."

"My detective lives with his dad?" The girl laughed a bit before taking another sip of her coffee.

Charlie wasn't sure if it was what she said that bothered him or the way she said it. Her detective? Did that mean that she had personally hired him or was she something more to Don?

"What's your name?" he asked, leaning forward.

"You're pretty much a straight-forward kind of person, aren't you?"

"I just thought that since you're in our house, I at least should know your name." Charlie felt proud of himself. At least he had said one smart thing tonight. Where was his mind when he needed it?

"Riley Thompson." The girl sighed, blowing her bangs out of her face. "And you are?"

"Charlie."

"And I guess I'm just supposed to assume that your last name is Epps, correct? So that would mean that you're Detective Epps' brother?"

Charlie nodded, not feeling stupid for the first time that night. He glanced quickly at the clock. When was Don going to be home? He had never been good with company and he was proving it well.

"So Charlie, aren't you even wondering what I'm here for?" Riley shifted in her seat, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Are you one of his witnesses?" Charlie asked. He nervously played with the edges of the tablecloth.

"Your stupid brother took something of mine and I want it back."

"What was it?"

"It was my mom's … some kind of cloth with a whole bunch of numbers on it." Riley sighed, her shoulders falling into a slump. "My mom was always making weird notes for me to decipher."

"It had numbers on them?" he tried to keep his voice from shaking. She was obviously talking about the cloth Don had given him earlier. But would it be a smart thing to tell her that he had it? If she was looking for the cloth, then that meant that she was the victim's daughter. Charlie suddenly felt more determined to decipher the code. Yet, was it such a good idea to get emotionally involved? "I might know where it is." He added slowly, letting his thoughts rest at the back of his mind.

"You do?" Riley's eyes snapped open wide. She placed both her hands firmly on the table as she leaned forward, her face inches from his. "Show it to me," she hissed eagerly.

"_Thanks for dinner, Don. The lobster was delicious." Terry said quietly, washing down the food with wine. The candles were illuminating their faces, casting tiny shadows across the table. It was the perfect romantic dinner. _

"_It was my pleasure," Don rubbed her shoulder gently, his brown eyes gazing into hers. "Why don't we have some dessert at my place? It'll be just the two of us."_

"_Oh, well, that sounds great." She looked up at him smiling. _

"_Do you know how beautiful you look when you smile, Terry?" Don asked as he placed his hand on hers. _

"_No, but you should remind me more often." Terry commented coyly. She teased him by tracing her fingers along his wrist. _

"_Terry." Don started, leaning forward. _

"_Yes?" She closed her eyes, waiting for his lips to meet hers. _

"Terry?"

Terry snapped to attention, her eyes blinking rapidly. Looking up, she met Don's concerned gaze. She gave a small smile.

"Sorry, Don. My mind went on a vacation for a second. What did you say?"

"I was wondering if you were going to finish your fries." Don pointed to the basket of fries in front of her.

"No, go ahead. They're all yours." Terry pushed the basket to her partner, a frown on her face. She turned her head to the seafood restaurant across the street and sighed.

"Something wrong, Terry?" Don asked as he consumed half the basket of fries in one mouthful.

"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing." She said quickly.

"You're thinking about the case from this morning, aren't you?"

"The case? Oh, that …" Terry waved her hand, dismissing the thought. "That was far from my mind. I don't even want to think about it for the rest of the night."

"Well, speaking of the case," Don paused, his hand scratching the back of his head. "The girl, the daughter, called me—"

"Wait, what!" She turned to him, raising her eyebrow. "She called you? What for? To whine more about her suicidal mother?"

"That's a bit harsh, Terry and I'm beginning to wonder why this is upsetting you so much." Don leaned forward, keeping his eyes on hers. "What is it about this case that is making you act like this?"

"Act like what?" She could feel her voice strain and tried to stop but her mind was in the wrong place. "Act like I don't care about some stupid woman killing herself? Act like I don't care about some daughter who's mother just up and sliced herself open?" She leaned back in her seat and angrily glared out towards the street.

"Do you?"

"Do I what."

"Do you care?" Don's voice was calm with no hint of worry or hysterics, much unlike Terry's. He waited a few minutes while she bit her lip, thinking. When she turned to face him again, his heart sank with sympathy. Her face was drawn, looking ten years older.

"Yes, I care."

"Why?"

"When I was twelve, my best friend killed herself." Terry moved her hand to her forehead, rubbing it as if she had a headache. "All because her stupid boyfriend dumped her for her sister. Can you imagine living knowing the fact that you were the reason you're sister killed herself?" She sighed and tilted her head back, closing her eyes as her mind went into the past. "Her sister never went out with the guy and spent most of her life with psychiatrists. She ended up committing suicide eight years later."

"That's horrible! Why haven't you ever told me this?" Don asked, concerned.

"You never asked and besides," Terry mover her head back and smiled grimly, "it was never important."

"It must have been to you." He said softly, reaching out to pat her hand. This time, her smile was genuine.

Not exactly the romantic setting she had imagined but the his hand on hers was nice… very nice…

"But besides all that, do you think you can still do this case, Terry? You might get too involved and it will cloud your judgment." Don shrugged when she glared at him. "Hey, it's my job to ask. That way, I won't have to take the blame when you screw up," he teased, winking at her.

"Like I would screw up!" Terry laughed. "So then, what did the daughter want?"

"Show it to me!"

"Are you serious?"

"Give it to me!"

"But … it's evidence!"

"Does it look like I give a shit?"

"But I can't! I'm not allowed to and I'm not giving it to you!"

"Stop being such an idiot and hand it over! NOW!"

"No."

"No? No! Why the fuck not!"

"You know, cussing isn't very ladylike."

"Again, does it look like a give a _shit_!"

"I'm still not giving it to you."

"Why!"

"I already told you and would you put that cup down! You'll break it."

"I'll break your arm in a second if you don't give me the damn cloth!"

"The police will handle the case and let you know the progress as we continue."

"The police are the ones who ruled my mother's murder as a suicide!"

"Careful with the cup! You don't slam porcelain on a hardwood table!"

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to you!"

" … It belonged to my mother …"

"It belonged? As in … past-tense?"

" … yes."

"Oh … … here."

"Thank you."

"Can I still see the cloth, please?"

"Alright, but you can't touch it!"

"Scout's honor."

" …"

"Sorry, police humor."

"Remind me to laugh later."

"Will do, Captain."

" … More police humor, right?"

"Right."

It well after nine when Don finally convinced Terry to join him in talking with Riley Thompson. She wasn't too happy that Don had agreed to share evidence but there wasn't anything she could do now. As she walked down the walkway to their door, she wondered if Charlie had deciphered it out already. If he hadn't, it would be an excuse to not let Riley see it.

"Dad? Charlie? I'm home!" Don shouted as he opened the front door. He left Terry to shut and lock it as he went to the kitchen. As he walked over to the table, he saw a porcelain cup resting quietly by the flower vase on the table. There was another one set not too far from it, looking somehow out of place. He reached over to tenderly run his finger across the handle, remembering all the times their mother had made home-made tea for them.

"Don, where's Charlie?"

"Hmm?" Don snapped back to reality, feeling a bit guilty about reminiscing about his mother in front of Terry. He let his hand drop back to his side as he looked around. "Well, I think they had something to drink and then … it looks like Charlie went to the garage."

"Then she left?" Terry asked, hopeful.

"It doesn't look like it," Don went across the kitchen and into the living room to walk out the side-door that was still wide open. The light in the garage wasn't usually off since Charlie did most of his work through the night but the door was always shut. As he went over, he noticed Riley in a corner, leaning over something on one of the tables. Her lips were pressed in a tight line and her fingers were edging, tapping, on the tabletop. When he and Terry walked in, she lifted her head briefly before going back to whatever had caught her attention.

"Don! You're home." Charlie waved to him briefly from his spot by the white-board. "Riley and I almost have this thing figured out. I don't know ho w I never saw it before. It was so obvious. It's not random at all. Not even close!"

"So you've cracked it?" Don forgot about his irritation at seeing the cloth, the evidence, in Riley's trembling hands. Charlie shook his head, hesitant.

"Not exactly but we're close." Charlie smiled and pointed to the board. "Look at the numbers. When you look at them, what's the first thing you think of?"

"A headache." Terry commented, hoping they knew she was teasing. Don gave her side-long knowing look and Charlie half-glared at her. "Well, not really but … I think of a phone-number."

"Or a really long zip-code." Don murmured, jokingly.

"A barcode." Terry suggested.

"Are you two even looking at the numbers?" Charlie asked exasperated. "I mean, look at them! Look _at _them. What do they remind you of?"

"Charlie, you know we don't have the patience to stand around here thinking about and we know that you don't have the patience to stand around waiting for us to think about it so why don't you just explain it to us?" Don crossed his arms, leaning against one of the tables.

"1-5-1-9-1-1-2-1-2-5-2-6-1-3. Numbers are related to a lot of different kind of codes. You can make a million codes using numbers and a million ways to read them. We use numbers sometimes to decipher messages. We use numbers as letters, see?" Charlie scribbled some equations below the numbers, licking his lips in excitement. "One could be A, Two could be B, and so on. So I figured—"

"Ahem!" Riley lifted her hand, as if trying to draw some recognition to herself. "You figured?"

"Well … we figured …" Charlie grinned sheepishly. Clearing his throat, he went on. "We figured that this is some sort of message but there are endless possibilities. It could be any code—"

"What do you mean by 'any code'?" Terry asked. "Numbers are letters. Letters are numbers. What other codes are there?"

"For example, the letter A doesn't always have to be the number one. It could be thirteen, or eight, or even twenty-three. There are twenty-six letters so we know that the key only includes numbers one to twenty-six but the letters could be in any sort of arrangement."

"So, exactly how close have you—"

"Ahem!"

" …. How close have both of you gotten to deciphering this?" Don finished, throwing Riley a disapproving look. He was quite taken aback when she stuck her tongue out at him. The look on his face was so comical that even Charlie almost laughed.

"We've written down all the numbers and possible letters that could match. There are about 26x26 possibilities if you go down every single one. Cross out the 2 and put—"

"There are 676 codes possible, is what he's saying."

Charlie glared at Riley, not feeling like laughing anymore. His hand was poised over the board, in the middle of writing his third equation. And he didn't think it was very funny when she stuck her tongue out at _him_! He turned back to Don who had an amused look on his face. "I h ate it when you let your work follow you home." Charlie told him, still glaring.

Don did laugh then and Terry looked at him like he was crazy. What was so hilarious about the way the girl was acting? That smug smile on Riley's face wasn't easing her anger either but the look on Don's face was what shocked her.

Admiration.

Pure and simple admiration. Even after Charlie turned back to the board to finish his equation and Riley went back to writing down codes, Don's eyes lingered on Riley for a minute before looking back at the mess of equations. Terry's eyes went back and forth between her partner and the victim, wondering.

Was it just her imagination or had their been something else in Don's eyes besides admiration?

She didn't want to even guess at what it could be …

END OF CHAPTER THREE

**Author's Note: **_Sorry about not updating in so long. School and work have been taking up my life. I haven't even cleaned my room completely yet! Anyhow, the chapter is up! 13 pages, oh yeah! Go me! I rock! I rule! By the way, in case any of you were wondering (and no doubt some of you did), in the part where there is just dialogue—It's just Riley/Charlie talking. The basic point was to show their differences as well as similarities. The differences were that Riley was a more forceful …err, more violent approach to things while Charlie's was calm and passive. The similarity was the fact that both their mothers were dead and that's the transition, showing Riley's soft side. Umm, any other questions, explanations or corrections … just post it in your review and I'll answer to it when I post it or email it to you. thanks to all my reviewers! I love you!_


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